So if you know me, you may know of my utter loathing for peanut butter. Hand me a sandwich with peanut butter on, or worse, with added jam, I will make a face like this
Only I don’t.
Because now all I can bloody-well think about are peanut butter and jam sandwiches. How wholewheat bread is so nutty and delicious, and that particular rich creamy texture of peanut butter + the awesome crunchy bits. How gorgeously purple rich youngberry jam is. How much I want this damn sandwich that you normally couldn’t pay me to eat.
Life. Gah. Instead I had a spoon of pb & jam, so there, but still.
So anyway, it’s a simple bit of psychology that parents understand only too well, and now I am going to apply it to myself. See, I have this book. I kinda like it, but not enough. Or rather, I used to like it but now I’m scared of writing it because it isn’t perfect, and it’s dumb, and everyone will laugh at me because it’s shite. (It’s also first draft and unfinished, so shite by default, but I have never let things like logic bother me).
Obviously with this attitude, I have a desire of -1 to work on it.
CAT YOU MAY NEVER WORK ON THIS BOOK AGAIN EVER SO THERE, AND IF YOU DO EVERYONE WILL HATE YOU AND SO ON ETCETERA.